Realization
by dancingkatz
Summary: At the feast celebrating King elessar and Queen Arwen's wedding, Pippin misses Boromir. Pippin, Merry and the other Fellowship members. Nonslash.


_Author's note: Another piece that just appeared out of nowhere. I watched the extended edition of "Fellowship of the Ring" this evening and as always was ticked off that Mr. Jackson hadn't shown Boromir getting a gift from the Lady Galadriel. This story is a possible explanation of why Boromir was left out._

_Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it belongs to Tolkien, If you don't it belongs to me._

_Dedication: To Ithil-valon. I know you prefer happy endings but this was the best I could do tonight. I promise I'll write you a happy ending story soon.

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**Realization**

_By Dancingkatz_

Pippin had enjoyed the feast immensely. Being known as the _Ernil I Pherianath_ definitely had it's benefits. He returned the smile of the young woman who filled his empty goblet and looked around for his friends.

Merry was deep into a discussion of the merits of Old Toby versus Longbottom Leaf with King Eomer and Gamling at the other end of the table.

Sam was sitting next to Frodo over by one of the alcoves lining the far wall of the Merethrond, the two of them having at last escaped the formality of the head table, listening to the musicians and "filling up the corners".

Strider…_No, I have to remember to call him King Elessar now_…was strolling through the hall with Queen Arwen accepting congratulations on their marriage.

Gandalf was sitting alone, looking contented and blowing smoke rings as he puffed on his pipe. A goblet was at his elbow and Pippin would happily bet that within the hour the smoke rings would be replaced by galleons and other more fanciful things.

The Steward, Lord Faramir, and Lady Eowyn were still seated next to each other at the head table looking as if the rest of the people filling the feast hall didn't exist. Pippin was happy to see it actually. The Man had been through a horrific ordeal as had the Lady and they both deserved to be happy.

A bellow of laughter rang out over the susurrus of conversation and music and drew his eye to where Gimli was standing on a chair apparently demonstrating the proper way to down an orc—or maybe it was a mumakil, given the expansiveness of his gestures—while Legolas stood nearby with an amused and somewhat indulgent expression on his face. He'd probably interject a wry comment any minute now and start the whole "Elf!" "Dwarf!" road show again.

It was good being off duty. Not that his duties were that onerous, really. But it was difficult sometimes to keep the appropriate mien when standing behind and to the side of the King at the council meetings, especially when the councilors came up with some totally ridiculous "solution" to the problems facing the country in regards to the restoration of war damaged villages and farms. _Hmph! None of those pampered morons know a thing about what it takes to feed and shelter a community or how much work is involved in replanting fields and repairing barns and fences. My Da could teach them all a thing or two, he could!_

A wave of homesickness washed over him. It was almost a year since he'd left home without saying goodbye. His parents likely thought he was dead long since. Why hadn't he sent a message and let them know he was all right as soon as the war had ended? At this point he'd probably arrive before any message he'd send home, if what Sam said was true.

For someone that never attended Council meetings the former gardener certainly seemed to collect a lot of inside information. He shrugged and took a drink of the ale. It was a mystery, and like the mystery of how Sam could take three bruised potatoes, a scrawny rabbit and two woody carrots, and make a meal that would leave nine hungry people happily satisfied, it was one he knew he'd never solve.

They would all be heading home soon. King Eomer was going to be taking his uncle's body back to Rohan and Merry need to attend the obsequies as Theoden's esquire. From there, they would head for Rivendell to see Bilbo and then go _home_. He then spent some minutes trying to imagine his homecoming and couldn't decide which was more likely, that his father would roar and bellow and clout him one on the ear for being so irresponsible as to take off for the Outside without letting anyone know what he was doing, or that Paladin Took would welcome him with an embrace and a three day feast to celebrate the return of his heir. Actually, after a few more minutes of consideration, he concluded that it was likely to be both.

After another swallow of ale he found his attention drawn towards a portrait that hung by the right side of the main doors into the hall. He hadn't noticed it before, but the hall wasn't usually so well lit. He blinked back sudden tears, recognizing the younger image of the one member of the Fellowship who had fallen, never to return to his home.

_Boromir. _

Ah, life wasn't fair. Pippin had taken to the big Man the minute he first met him in Rivendell. There was something about him that told Pippin he was a person to trust. After yet another afternoon of being informed he was a fool by not only Gandalf, but also by Merry and Sam, he'd left the rooms they'd been given and went into one of the gardens to find a place to be by himself for a bit. He knew that his cousin loved him and Sam was just worried about Frodo, but the _look_ that Gandalf gave him as he said the words was more than he could stand. He found a bench half hidden in a grotto formed by the arching branches of a flowering tree and had sat there, feeling miserable. Not long after, the Man had walked by looking as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders. Something made Pippin speak to him and a friendship was kindled on the spot.

He missed Boromir. Oh, not in the same way his brother, the Steward, must. But there was an empty place in his heart that just _hurt_ now that he had the leisure to notice it. Boromir should have been here celebrating his King's marriage and the new peace. But he'd fallen at Parth Galen after keeping Pippin from being slaughtered by a Uruk's sword and had attempted to save both Hobbits from capture..

Pippin's own sword had been pretty useless that day. The attack had come so swiftly and in such numbers and strength that the training Boromir had given them just wasn't enough. He hadn't been used to fighting with a sword long enough to even think of pulling it from its sheath until after the battle had been joined and Boromir had taken two black arrows from the Uruk leader's bow. By then it was too late.

_You _are_ a fool, Peregrin Took. You were twice a fool that day. Forgetting what he spent all those hours teaching you. You had a perfectly good sword in your belt and what did you do? You threw _rocks_! Rocks and pebbles against those giant orcs! _

If he closed his eyes he could still see it, as plainly as if it happened moments ago; his friend blocking the Uruk's sword and then slicing through it's throat with the riposte. An orc fell with every stroke of the Man's sword but there were far too many of them to start with, and then more appeared from over the hill, the leader walking slowly as if he had all the time in the world, raising the ugly bow to his shoulder…

"Pippin? Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes and saw Merry's worried face. "I'm fine. I was just…" his eyes went to the portrait again.

Merry followed his gaze and said, "You're remembering _him_." The older hobbit reached for his own goblet and a pitcher that sat nearby then took the seat next to Pippin. He filled Pippin's nearly empty cup, topped off his own and gave the inquiring look he always gave when offering to listen to someone's troubles.

Pippin didn't say anything for some time, his mind trying to latch onto something that danced on the edge of his memory. Merry didn't rush him, only sipping at his ale and tapping one foot to the music.

After a bit Pippin shook his head. "It's no use. I can't…"

Merry looked at his younger cousin in sympathy and stood up, offering his hand. "Here, let's get out of here and find a nice quiet spot somewhere. Maybe that will help."

The two hobbits left the hall quietly and walked outside. Passing by the new White Tree, its leaves and blossoms gleaming in the moonlight, Pippin stopped. He pulled himself to attention and saluted then turned to accompany Merry down the tunnel to the Sixth Circle. Just before they entered the torch lit tunnel Pippin turned to look once more at the Tree. "He would have loved to see it blooming like this," he whispered.

Merry stayed silent and waited until his cousin turned and continued walking. Their quarters were not too far from the mouth of the tunnel, on the ground level of the guest house where the remaining members of the Fellowship were housed. Once inside, Merry lit the lamps and then steered Pippin towards the bedchamber.

"Here, I'll help you get that armour off."

Pippin nodded his head in thanks and unbuckled the sword belt, but he didn't set it down on the bed. Instead, he stared down at the delicately decorated sheath and the finely crafted blade that had been gifted to him by the Lady Galadriel upon the Fellowship's leaving of Lorien. His already sad face grew suddenly pale and stricken and Merry rushed to sit him down on the edge of the bed.

"What is it, Pip? Are you…" Merry's question trailed off. It was obvious that Pippin was _not_ all right.

Shaking, tears pouring freely down his face, Pippin finally looked at his kinsmen. "Merry, she _knew_."

"Who knew what, Pip?"

Sudden anger coloured Pippin's voice. "The Lady Galadriel. She didn't give him a gift. We all of us got something. She gave you and I our swords. Frodo got that glass. Sam got rope. Legolas got a bow, and Gimli got three of her hairs, of all things! But she didn't give Boromir _anything_!"

"She didn't give Strider anything either, Pip." Merry said, frowning as he tried to recall that morning. All of them had been given the Híthlain cloaks. Then the other gifts had been distributed. Pippin had been outraged that his friend had been overlooked, but his intent to say something had been firmly squelched by Merry who had already been scolded by Strider that morning for making uncalled for comments in regards to the outlandishness the boats.

"Celeborn gave Strider that knife. But even he didn't give Boromir anything. We all got things we would need on the quest, except for Boromir." Pippin threw the sword and belt onto the bed and buried his face in his hands, shuddering. He looked up at Merry with an expression of misery, sadness, fear, and anger all mixed together. "The Lady _knew_ that Boromir was going to die. That's why he didn't get anything. She could have given him a breast plate, or a mithril corselet or something that could have saved his life. But she _didn't_!"

Pippin broke down completely then. Merry sat next to his cousin and friend and held him as he wept, an expression of shock on his face and his own tears began to fall.

Thus they sat as the night wore on, grieving for their friend and what might have been as the music and cheerful noise of the wedding feast fell softly over the City.

_Finis._


End file.
